To Lalage?-ah woe-ah woe is me! This mockery is most cruel-most cruel indeed! POLITIAN. Weep not! oh, sob not thus !-thy bitter tears Be comforted! I know-I know it all, And still I speak of love. Look at me, brightest, Thou askest me if I could speak of love, Knowing what I know, and seeing what I have seen. Thou askest me that-and thus I answer thee Thus on my bended knee I answer thee. [Kneeling. Sweet Lalage, I love thee-love thee-love thee; Thro' good and ill—thro' weal and woe I love thee. Not mother, with her first-born on her knee, Thrills with intenser love than I for thee. Burned there a holier fire than burneth now [Arising. Even for thy woes I love thee-even for thy woes— Thy beauty and thy woes. |